


Of Limits And Trust

by Kawaiibooker



Series: Xmas Supply Drop [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hostage Situations, I don't know what this is but it's... something, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: Pequod and Quiet are taken hostage. Far off from help, the only thing they have left is each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GRAYXOF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GRAYXOF/gifts).



> Written for [2016 MGS Xmas Supply Drop](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2016_xmas_supply_drop)!
> 
> Prompt: "Pequod & Quiet: anything u want. tell me about this dynamic?? ?"
> 
> Merry Christmas!

“Are you okay?”

Those are the first words out of Pequod's mouth when they're finally alone. Quiet looks up in surprise, taking in the determined expression on his face, hazel eyes sharp, lips tense. Droplets of blood run down his temple, sticking his short blonde hair together. It's difficult to tear herself away from the sight.

She's dizzy, feeling faint. Bruises litter her body. Quiet answers with a simple nod, then another, gesturing to him this time. Pequod smiles, just a little.

“Been better but I'll live.”

Pequod shifts, his combat boots scraping along the rough concrete floor as he stretches out his legs. His hand remains chained to the wall, back uncomfortably straight because of it.

Quiet's in much the same state. The fact that she can't slip her handcuffs makes her stomach roil.

They sit in silence for a while, only the sound of their breathing filling the cell they've been locked in. Four walls, solid bars, one bare lightbulb. It's nostalgic in a way, reminding Quiet of the one she used to live in.

There's no music, though. No sunlight, either, except for the few rays slipping through the single barred window, too high to reach.

“What do you think they want?”

Pequod's gaze is fixed on the door. Quiet waits for him to look over, then blinks slowly. There's no answer she can give him.

Some treat her with wary acceptance, most with open contempt. Ever since they've met, Pequod's treated her like any other Diamond Dog, like she's _normal_.

But Quiet is not normal. Realization sets in slowly.

“Sorry”, Pequod mumbles, wincing. “I didn't– Yeah. Sorry.”

She shrugs. _It's okay._ Propping her head against the wall, she sighs and closes her eyes. Exhaustion laps against her consciousness like waves on a beach, gaining momentum.

“Quiet?”

A hum is all she can manage, as soft as Pequod's whisper.

“I'm glad you're here.”

 _Me too_ , she thinks, knocking one of Pequod's boots with her own. Sleep comes easy with him around.

It's day one of their captivity.

*

They must've known who – _what_ – she is.

That conclusion is drawn after hours of introspection, of revisiting the events of the previous day. With Snake three stories underground and the infiltration in progress, she had doubled back, her job finished.

Quiet hadn't noticed something was off until a column of smoke had risen on the horizon, right where Pequod had hidden the chopper. Before she could do anything about it – check on Pequod, or call for backup, or warn Snake, all just a click of a button away – there had been arms around her neck and pain coursing through her body and–

When she woke up, handcuffed and muzzled on the back of a truck and across from a still unconscious Pequod, her first instinct had been to phase, to fight, to get them out of there.

Nothing.

Her body didn't respond. A moment later she noticed she was breathing, wheezing through the fabric crammed into her mouth because _she needed air._

They drugged her and to do that, they must've _known._

“Hey, Q?”

Quiet jerks out of her thoughts, blinking to get her eyes to focus on her cellmate. Pequod is watching her with the same look of concern as the day before. He knows something's wrong, too.

“Can I call you 'Q'?”

They're captured, taken hostage and he's worrying about a nickname. Quiet shrugs, then tilts her head.

“Oh, it just sounds more like a name to me. Less, uh, technical. If that makes sense.” He scratches his neck with his free hand, self-conscious. “I hope you don't mind me talking. Grew up in a big family, y'know? Lots of noise and– Yeah. Silence gets to me.”

It takes some effort but Quiet smiles, acknowledging his words without judgement. She hugs her knees to her chest, settling into a more comfortable position to listen.

“Had two big brothers and too many cousins to count, there was always something going on. That's why Diamond Dogs instantly felt like home to me, I think. Lots of people around, different personalities and backgrounds. It feels good to be part of something...”

Pequod trails off, chewing on something. His voice is strained when he speaks up again, down-cast eyes suspiciously wet. With sudden clarity, Quiet remembers Pequod's young, younger than her.

“Do you think they'll come for us?”

The hours they spent on that convoy come to mind; their equipment is gone and with it, any way to call for help or track their position. Pequod's more of a technician than a soldier and Quiet... Quiet's _human_. The chances that they'll make it out of this one are slim to none.

The truth hangs above them like a death sentence. Damocles' sword, ready to drop.

Their gazes meet.

Slowly, Quiet shakes her head.

Tears slide down Pequod's cheeks but his expression is remarkably calm as he nods. “Yeah, thought so too”, he mutters. He doesn't talk after that.

Later, when Pequod falls into an uneasy sleep, twisting and turning without relief, Quiet starts to hum. She goes through every song she can think of, low and calming until he sighs and settles down – and she carries on a while after that.

Quiet doesn't like silence either.

*

Their captors are elusive: shadows on the wall, distant steps, muffled voices. No contact means no demands, no questioning, no torture.

Who they are, why they're here, how much time has passed - lack of information is its own brand of agony. The days are endless, defined solely by their sleep cycles, more and more out of synch with the outside world.

Food and water, too, are dream-like concepts their bodies haven't quite forgotten yet.

Quiet knows thirst. Hunger, however, is an alien concept to her. In the time she's been with Diamond Dogs, she's only eaten for pleasure, never out of necessity.

Food is all she can think of now. She tries to distract herself, concentrating on the path of the sunlight across the blank wall, first appearing in the top right corner to move across it in a steady curve. Something inside her yearns for that, too, phantom touches of warmth on naked skin leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Quiet's so zoned out that the clatter of plastic on concrete registers only dimly. It's Pequod's scramble for the filled trays that startles her out of her daze.

“Here”, he rasps, pushing one of them in her direction after he visibly strains his chained hand to get to it. Quiet's attention zeroes in on the plain toast, soup and water they're given. The first sip of the soup is heavenly, even if it's bland to the point of tastelessness.

There's little interaction while they wolf it all down. It's gone too fast, Quiet's stomach churning with the sudden influx of sustenance. She pushes away the tray and curls up as much as her bound arm allows.

“Not too generous our hosts, huh?” Pequod leans back with a groan, holding his stomach. “I'll never complain about the mess hall again. I'll kiss Miller's face if I have to but fuck, I'm never letting it go. Ever.”

Inexplicably it's that mental image that makes Quiet chuckle, growing ever stronger until she's struggling to breathe, gasping between bouts of laughter. The thought of home seems so ridiculous now, when it's more than likely they'll never see it again.

Pequod's grinning when she finally calms down. “Havin' fun, Q?”

The grin on Quiet's face rivals his. She wipes away a stray tear at the corner of her eye, shaking her head. _Not funny._

“I know, I know. Snake wouldn't let me, anyways.”

Quiet cocks an eyebrow, _maybe if you ask nicely_ , she wants to tease. As always she holds her deadly tongue, sighing instead. Her outburst left her strangely exhausted, her body aching in ways she never knew it could.

In front of her Pequod sobers up, looking from her to her empty plate. “Can I ask you something?”

Quiet nods, frowns as the movement makes the world spin around her, slowly at first, then ever faster.

“Do you– Q? You okay there?”

The edges of her vision are getting hazy, her lids falling without her consent. A confused noise is all Quiet can offer him.

“Quiet? Hey–“

She tries, fails to hold onto consciousness–

***

Pequod is alone.

For hours he stares at the opposite side of the room, shockingly empty.

Quiet is gone, taken... somewhere, Pequod doesn't know, can't fathom a place beyond the four walls he's been locked in for too long. The moment she went limp, they came in – their captors, previously faceless apparitions beyond the barred entrance, suddenly revealed in full – and with bruising hands, carried his cellmate out.

Bored expressions, uncaring eyes. Pequod's protests had been ignored, echoing inside him long after they'd gone. If the silence was uncomfortable before, it's unbearable now, only him and his thoughts filling the void left behind.

Pequod thinks of Quiet's laughter, of the rare smile he managed to coax out of her, her attentive gaze on him as he talked and talked and talked to pass the time.

He thinks of the bruises that looked so out of place on her skin, her heavy breathing, the way she scarfed down the soup, starved out of her mind.

He thinks of the slow shake of her head. _Do you think they'll come for us?_

Pequod thinks – and comes to a decision.

*

Quiet comes to slowly. Pequod can see the exact moment pain registers, her expression twisting into a grimace. She moves, is stopped by her handcuffs. She slumps in defeat.

There are cuts all over her exposed skin, methodic and clinical and _wrong_.

“Are you okay?”

Quiet shakes her head weakly. Pequod feels his heart squeeze in sympathy.

It only solidifies his resolve.

“It's in the food.”

Quiet lifts her head, bleary eyes trained on him.

“The drug. It's in the food. You weren't breathing last night. Now you are.”

Pequod nods to himself, then sighs. Quiet frowns.

“I know how to get out of here but... I need your help. Do you trust me?”

They never interacted much, Quiet and him; before this whole mess started they were simply collegues. He flies, she shoots. A good team.

Asking this of her is a tall order and yet...

Quiet's frown disappears. She nods, a grim smile touching her lips.

Pequod returns it easily.

“Let's show these assholes what Diamond Dogs are made of.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was somewhat of an experiment and I don't know if it succeeded. I hope you liked it anyways c:


End file.
